That evening, Klein finished writing a letter to the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce in the study.
The letter wasn't long, primarily requesting an additional batch of preservation solution for sea monster tissue samples and several types of mineral powders for control experiments.
After finishing, he blew the ink dry, folded the parchment, sealed it with wax, and handed it to Raymond, who was waiting at the door.
“Send this out first thing tomorrow morning.”
Raymond suddenly asked, “Master, I understand using letters for matters involving Miss Nelisa because they might involve secrets, but why even for materials...”
Klein replied, “Even though the Silver Scale Chamber of Commerce promised these things as free aid, it's better to keep a record of exactly what was provided.”
“A letter happens to serve that purpose well.”
Raymond nodded, took the letter, and withdrew.
Klein stretched his shoulders and rolled his neck.
When he returned to the bedroom, Ophelia was already there.
She was wearing a loose home outfit, her hair down, sitting on the edge of the bed.
A porcelain jar sat on the small table beside her—Klein recognized it as a herbal ointment he had prepared in his workshop, specifically for treating bruises and sprains.
“Did you go rummaging through my workshop?”
“Mhm.”
After answering, she realized she had entered without Klein's permission.
She asked somewhat sheepishly, “Is that not allowed?”
Klein shook his head.
“No, there aren't that many rules.”
“Besides, I trust you not to mess with my things.”
Ophelia finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“That's good.”
Klein glanced at the jar of ointment, then at Ophelia sitting upright on the edge of the bed.
Her posture was formal, her expression serious, and both hands were placed neatly on her knees. Her state looked less like a wife about to give her husband a massage and more like a final inspection before heading to the battlefield.
He decided not to point that out.
“So... should I just lie face down?”
“Mhm.”
Klein lay on the bed, his chin resting on his folded arms. Silence followed behind him for a few seconds.
Then he felt a pair of hands press onto his lower back through his clothes.
The pressure was heavy.
Extremely heavy.
“Hiss—”
“Does it hurt?”
“It hurts.”
Klein gave a definitive answer, his voice muffled.
Ophelia's hands immediately pulled back.
She looked down at her palms, her brow furrowing slightly.
“I'll try lighter.”
She placed her right hand back on him, much more carefully this time.
Klein was silent for two seconds. “...Now I can't feel anything at all.”
Ophelia's frown deepened.
She added a bit more pressure.
“Yeah, that's—wait, too heavy again.”
“...”
Ophelia withdrew her hands and clenched her fists, her expression as solemn as if she were reviewing a lost battle.
She was clearly dissatisfied with her performance. On the battlefield, she could be precise to the point of impact for every sword strike, but in this matter, she couldn't even find the right scale for the pressure.
Klein rolled over and looked up at her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight and her hands on her knees, her entire being radiating a combat-ready tension.
The jar of ointment sat perfectly centered on the side table, the lid half-unscrewed, but the cream hadn't even touched her hands yet.
“How about this?” Klein sat up. “You lie down first.”
“What?”
“I'll give you a massage first so you can feel the pressure. Then you can just follow that.”
Ophelia looked at him, her expression undergoing a subtle shift—from confusion to hesitation, then to a certain indefinable awkwardness.
“There's nothing wrong with my waist.”
“I know. But if you don't lie down and try it once, you won't know what ‘appropriate pressure’ feels like, right?”
The logic was impeccable. Ophelia opened her mouth but couldn't find a flaw.
“...I came here to massage you.”
“So you have to learn first.” Klein patted the bed. “Come on.”
Ophelia stared at the spot he had patted for three seconds.
Then she moved.
Her movements were crisp as she rolled over and lay face down, her chin resting on her folded arms—her posture was almost identical to Klein's earlier.
With her face buried, the heat at the tips of her ears had already begun to rise.
Klein looked at her straight back and tense shoulder line, holding back a few things that shouldn't be said at this moment.
He took the ointment from the side table and spread it across his palms.
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“The muscles across your entire back are hard.”
“...A knight's muscles are naturally hard.”
Klein didn't argue. He pressed his palms against her lower back, slowly applying pressure with the base of his palms and gradually pushing along the muscle groups on both sides of her spine.
Ophelia's breathing hitched for a beat.
“Remember this pressure,” Klein's voice sounded right above her head, very close. “It's roughly like this. You don't need too much force.”
Ophelia didn't answer.
It wasn't that she didn't want to. It was that when his hands passed over a certain spot, she nearly let out a groan.
Ophelia's body was very healthy.
Klein didn't need to judge that now; he had understood it clearly last night.
The only problem was that she was too tight.
Likely because she was nervous, her entire body was tense.
However... it didn't affect much.
Klein withdrew his hands, picked up the jar of ointment from the bedside table, unscrewed the lid, and scooped some out with his fingertip. The scent of the ointment drifted out—a mix of herbs and the coolness of mint.
He rubbed his palms together to spread the ointment.
Then his hand reached under the hem of her clothes at her lower back.
Ophelia practically bolted.
It wasn't an exaggeration—she really jumped. The reaction was so fast she hadn't even anticipated it herself; the muscles in her lower back suddenly tightened, and her legs nearly kicked straight out.
“Cold—”
She only managed to blurt out that one word.
Klein's palm pressed against the skin of her waist, carrying the coolness of the ointment and his naturally low body temperature. The double layer of cold sent a fine layer of goosebumps across her back.
“The ointment was just opened; it's normal for it to be a bit cold.” Klein's tone was excessively calm. “It'll be fine once it's rubbed in.”
His tone was indeed calm. His movements were steady.
But what he didn't say was that the moment his palm touched her, his own fingertips had also paused.
The skin at her waist was very hot. When the coldness of the ointment touched it, that patch of skin had almost instinctively contracted before slowly, very slowly, relaxing.
It was like a form of silent trust.
Klein lowered his eyes and focused on the movements under his hands, not allowing himself to think any deeper.
Ophelia buried her face back into her arms, biting her lower lip and remaining silent.
She could feel those hands moving slowly beneath her clothes.
The base of his palm pressed against the right side of her spine, pushing down along the grain of the muscle.
Once the ointment was warmed by her body temperature, it was no longer icy. Instead, it was replaced by a penetrating warmth—the herbal ingredients were taking effect, creating a tingling sensation. It wasn't exactly painful, but every time he passed a tense spot, a sore ache would surge up from her waist.
Her fingers silently gripped the pillow.
The memory of their frenzy last night flashed through her mind.
This guy had gripped her waist just as relentlessly then.
Though it hadn't been as gentle as it was now.
Those hands pushed up a bit further, passing the area of her lower ribs, and the pressure suddenly lightened—not as a technical adjustment, but more like he was intentionally slowing down in that small area.
Ophelia's shoulders instinctively hunched.
Klein stopped.
“Ticklish?”
“...No.”
Silence for two seconds.
“...A little.”
Klein didn't laugh out loud. But Ophelia's ears, buried in her arms, were very sharp; she could hear the unnatural breath he took to suppress his amusement.
She buried her face even deeper.
Rate on N.U.
